Show me what I'm looking for
by bouj525
Summary: Routine is boring. Clarke buys a new book and suddenly, everything changes.
1. The past

**A short story about two women meeting because of a book.**

 **Inspiration songs are Show me what I'm looking for (Carolina Liar), Stop & Stare (One Republic), and Giants (Lights)**

 **Part 1.**

* * *

 **Show me what I'm looking for**

Death.

She feels it in the air before the words are pronounced. She smells it, feels it creeping up in her skin, taking roots around her bones and making her entire body slightly shiver. After many months spent in this hospital, she knows when to say farewell better than she used to. She knows when someone's spirit has moved on.

She knows when to let go and she still doesn't know if it is a blessing or a tragedy.

"Gustus is gone, Clarke."

The blonde sighs and wipes a tear coming out of her eyes. The wrinkled hand she's holding doesn't belong to someone with a beating heart anymore. She knows that she needs to leave the room and care for other patients, but this one was special. This gentleman was alone when he came to the hospital just a month ago. In thirty days, his longest conversation had been with Clarke. The doctor had developed affection for the man, taking a few minutes to discuss with him every day, breaking the loneliness he was trapped in. She had learned about his days in the army, his wars against foreign countries and his battles against his own persona.

His secrets now belong to her and she can feel the heavy weight of history on her conscience.

"May we meet again," she whispers.

It's a sentence she whispers to every lost soul she encounters. She first heard it from her dad, when her only worries used to be the future tests coming up at school. It conveys hope and she believes the world needs more of it. Whenever she loses someone, she murmurs it, wishing them the best to a journey no one has ever come back from. She never forgets it. It is her mantra, her personal touch in a place where she must always be better and faster at helping people, so muchthat the concept of humanity is sometimes overlooked.

She fears that she is already losing her humanity.

It hurts for her to say goodbye, but it doesn't handicap her like it used to in her younger years. It doesn't make her curse the world or scream for fairness and equity anymore. It doesn't keep her awake night after night, wishing upon a star that things were different. She doesn't feel a bottomless void in her heart anymore and she knows she will able to move on quickly. Her blessing echo in the empty room. It takes her ten seconds to walk away, a personal record.

She almost stumbles but catches her step quickly.

She's becoming someone she doesn't want to be, but she lives in denial.

Denial is her strongest weakness.

It never gets easier to lose someone, but she has mastered the skill of ignoring her pain.

* * *

Life.

She knows it before the judge even announces the sentence. Her case is solid, unbeatable, and the defendant has been found guilty of first degree murder. He will trade his freedom for a life sentence. She glances over at her client and nods solemnly.

The man stands strong, but his eyes show a deep level of sorrow engraved onto his soul. His wife was tortured and murdered coldly by someone they used to consider a friend. Every detail of the investigation pointed that the victim had been kept alive through days of abuse, both physical and psychological.

"For the murder of Maya Vie, the defendant is sentenced to a life imprisonment with twenty-five years parole ineligibility."

Lexa sighs in approval as the hearing comes to an end and the criminal is carried away by guards.

It had taken months, but the respected lawyer had found all the evidence needed to see justice served. For weeks, she had gathered the puzzle pieces carefully, interrogating the key witnesses, collaborating with the police and, most importantly, making sure Jasper Jordan never lost faith in the system. She had seen the light leave his eyes little by little, no matter how strong the evidence was and how certain she was that they would convince the jury beyond a reasonable doubt. She had learned about his entire life, his glorious days and happiest memories. She had learned about a time that didn't seem to exist anymore, for he was slowly finding a new home in the arms of depression.

"Her fight is over," she says with a calm tone.

It won't heal the wounds, but it's a sentence she whispers to every client. Their loss has no equal and it's her way of letting them know that they did everything they could. It's how she finds closure after a trial.

She can almost imagine Maya looking from above. She knows Jasper heard her, but she is aware that the man has a long way to go on a path only he can walk on. She feels the misery irradiating from him, his heart agonizing with every heartbeat. He's been stabbed in the chest by fate and he won't stop bleeding.

She sees the lie behind his smile, the torment behind his gratitude and the constant barriers of suffering trapping him from all sides. She feels the lack of conviction in his handshake as they part way and wonders if he will ever find peace again.

She knows he might not.

She walks to her car to go back to her office. She has a dozen files waiting for her, all of them involving the most horrifying crimes of the moment. It doesn't matter if she wins all of them. It will never bring her clients' loved ones back. Her thoughts wander to Jasper while she drives. She wonders what it feels like to go through such a devastating loss and having to get back to a normal life afterwards.

Is it ever going to be normal again?

She shakes her head. She cares about him today, but she won't tomorrow. She will have moved on. Her job needs her to because subjectivity doesn't belong here. No matter who wins in the end, no matter what her opinion is, there will always be lives destroyed, losses that could have been avoided and a perpetual conflict between the notions of right and wrong.

She used to let emotions decide for her and she was proud of it. She used to be impulsive and take risks, playing with fire with every opportunity, but then, she became passionate about laws and doctrines. A few years in the field has taught her that it isn't what she thought it would be.

She has become someone she doesn't recognize and she can't deny it.

Her ability to separate head from heart prevents her from dwelling on any feeling.

* * *

The door creaks when she walks in confidently. The smell of old books twirls around her, dances to her cells and fills her senses. She is back to the place she considers to be her second home. She feels a familiar wave of excitement blooming in her body as she starts wandering in the different sections. She is surrounded by many places to explore and her hunger for the unknown only grows stronger. She can feel her credit card in her pocket, waiting as if it were a passport ready to take her for the adventure of a lifetime.

Clarke makes a few steps in a specific direction before she changes her mind. She has started by the same rows since her very first visit here and she wants today to be different. She moves to the opposite side with ease. She knows the place like the back of her hand. 'Welcome back' floats invisibly in the air as she dives into the scent from newly printed books.

"Hi Raven," she smiles at the employee who also happens to be her childhood friend.

Raven waves back, half hidden by a pile of books waiting to be organized in the best way to capture the reader's attention. She glances at her friend and flinches when she realizes that Clarke, for the first time since this place opened three years ago, is breaking free from her usual itinerary. She briefly wonders what happened today, but she won't push Clarke for answers. The blonde knows where to find her if she wants to talk.

Blue eyes move from one book cover to another. They scan the titles and quickly judge the design of the covers, despite Clarke knowing it is a bad habit to choose this way. She can't help the action, but she is wise enough to fight the reflex of picking only the best-looking ones. She brushes her fingers on the works of fiction, savoring the way the different textures feel against her skin.

A part of her wants to go faster, to go back to the rhythm she follows at work, but she is not there anymore. Everywhere she looks, hundreds of books salute her like she is their leader. This isn't the place or the time to rush. Time flows differently in a place where words are kings and ideas are queens. And the scent alone is enough to teleport her to another dimension.

She picks a random novel and reads the back cover, wondering if it fits her interests. A reflection on human rights. She picks the next one, doing the same thing. A mysterious murder that has never been solved. She does it for the entire row, letting hours and minutes run out of her reach. Love story with a happy ending. Love story with a tragic ending. Thriller about aliens. Kidnapping. Slaves testimonies. Wonders of a parallel existence. Tale from a cat's point of view. Apocalypse. Hope. Friendship. Lost family. Sexuality. Time travelling.

She can't choose. Some days, she enjoys reading summaries more than the actual book. She opens a novel to a random page and seeks a few paragraphs to analyze. Reading small passages makes her feel like she is looking through the keyhole of a door leading to another universe. She is only allowed to have a glimpse of this distant reality and it always makes her crave more. It feeds her curiosity, her dreams and her imagination. It keeps her prisoner in this endless maze full of literary treasures. She loves this experience more than focusing solely on a few books and making her final decision within minutes.

By the time she finally tears her eyes away from the endless choices to concentrate on one, the sun is no longer in the sky and Raven is locking the door behind her last official customer. Clarke has earned the privilege of staying until her friend is done cleaning the place for the next day.

The book she buys is one she finds at the very end of a row, in a corner she rarely reaches when she starts from the other side. It portrays a futuristic world in which a nuclear war annihilates the planet and people are forced to move to space for a chance of survival. She finds the subject fascinating, even if it is not something she would pick at first glance. Maybe this will give her a new perspective on the way she currently lives her days.

She hopes so.

"Are you okay, Clarke?" Raven asks as she closes the lights and heads to the back door to leave.

"Have you ever seen me not being okay with a new book in my hands?" Clarke playfully answers with a light tone.

"You've been here for five hours. It's long, even for you."

The blonde hears the silent question brought by the statement. She shrugs. Her day is long and her only wish is to get lost in her story and forget about the extra hours at work. She acknowledges Raven's quiet concern.

"I'm okay. Thanks again for the discount. I'll tell you if it's any good."

They nod at each other, listening to the unspoken truth between the words pronounced a few seconds ago. They've always respected each other on what they want to share, on the timing of their confessions, on the freedom of choosing their moment. Today will not change.

The door protecting the City of Light library closes behind Clarke and the real world is back to haunt her.

* * *

Lexa sighs when she arrives at the door. It's locked and she should've known that leaving the office at such a late hour would only bring her a date with a closed library. She's slightly annoyed because she truly wanted to buy a new documentary about international human rights. She notes the City of Light hours for the next few day and makes her way to the metro station.

Her thoughts are contaminated with plans concerning her future cases.

Jasper is no longer on her mind as she reflects on how to take down a human trafficking organization named Mount Weather, one of the worse situation she has seen since she started doing this job. Its leader claims to have created an utopian community where immortality is no longer an illusion, but Lexa is not foolish enough to believe those empty promises.

The number of people involved in the situation disgusts her, but she refuses to let those feelings ruin her statement in court. She takes a deep breath and manages not to think about the next few days. It's always the same. It doesn't matter if the case breaks her heart or if children will have their entire life shattered in a second. It doesn't matter if she finds a certain way of living cruel or if she pities it. It doesn't matter if they thought they were doing right despite the laws disagreeing with them. It doesn't matter what their perception of the situation is because it won't matter in court. It will be a battle of facts.

As much as Lexa wishes she could let her heart speak, she can't. She's not allowed to.

It's her routine. She wakes up, she goes to work, she reads the files and she identifies the best ways to prove the culpability of the defendant. It's always the same, and yet, it never is. Lexa knows way too well that there is never a winner.

She tries not to dwell too much on the fact that this job isn't what she thought it would be.

Whether she wants it or not, she holds future lives in her hands. If she can't prove the defendant is guilty, if another crime happens, if someone else dies, she will blame herself. She must weight every decision, every sentence, every single detail she will introduce to the jury. She has the power to build a criminal persona for the person standing in front of the judge, whether they acted in the name of money, of love, of friendship, of loyalty or of what they thought was the right thing to do. She has concluded that everyone, when pushed to their limits, can make the worse decision.

It tears her apart, but no one will ever know.

She waits for the metro to arrive and opens the book she's been carrying in her bag for a few weeks. She finished it a week ago, but it doesn't matter.

Something pushes her to read it again.

* * *

The wind slaps her cheeks. Her eyes are lost in the lights and shadows projected everywhere around her. Her brain is completely immune to the sounds around her. She is swimming in an ocean of white noise and suddenly, it feels like she doesn't belong, like she never has. She knows she is not alone, but it feels like she is.

People move around her, almost touching her, but always avoiding her in this dense crowd. The wind is powerful, raging in synchrony with the rest of the world, but she is standing, immobile on the platform, the way a lone warrior faces the enemy.

She wonders if being invisible would make her feel different. Maybe it would give her a valid reason to feel like a stranger in this place. The way people avoid tripping on her confirms that she is seen by all, but it isn't enough. She's a ghost walking on the highway and everyone else is alive and sprinting to their destination.

They all have a goal in sight, a place to be, a moment to live and a clock to beat. They are all fighting the same enemy, time, but claim to be part of different battles. They curse when the train is late and blame the weather as much as they can. They find excuses to hide the fact that they didn't want to be adults today, or ever, and they keep playing pretend until they head home and wait for another day of role-playing. They run to make their connection between two trains as if it holds the key to win a million dollars. They get angry when they miss it and the four minutes wait until the next arrival transforms to a year of torments.

And Clarke?

Clarke waits for the metro to arrive, the book secured in her hand while her thoughts fly to the past. She tries too hard to forget about Gustus and the only thing that is left on her mind is the deathly routine she has been trapped into for the past years. Work, sleep, convince herself that she loves this life, repeat. A tornado of questions without answers spins around her.

She used to think that being a doctor was her ultimate dream. She used to think that walking to her favorite restaurant would cheer her up every time. She used to think that she could travel in this city's arteries forever and never get enough of it. She used to think that she was going somewhere, but now, she isn't sure of anything

Is it really the kind of life she wants? To play with life and death and pray for the best outcome? To heal and kill at the same time? Is it truly what drives her to wake up every morning and not stay in bed?

She shakes her head when she hears both trains arriving to the station at the same time. She can't think anymore. It's too hard to admit that, maybe, the only way for her to be happy is to realize that she has been wrong all this time.

She opens the book as she sits on an empty seat near the window facing the other side of the rails. A tiny smile appears on her face when she remembers the plot. She flips through the pages absently, not really processing what it says yet, and something catches her attention as the train starts moving. She stretches her neck as much as she can.

A book. On the opposite side. The same one she has.

Her grin widens. She wonders if its owner has the same whirlpool of interrogations in their head or if they simply enjoy reading about people having the hardest time of their life.

The realization that she might not be the only one second guessing her choices reassures her.

She might not be alone.

She barely has time to see long light brown hair before the stranger disappears from her field of vision.

* * *

Lexa feels the earth move and glances up.

She sees the book going in the opposite direction at the very last minute. It's fast and the windows are dirty, but the few milliseconds are enough for her to know that the document has the same cover, the same title and the same colors as the one she has in her hands. The peculiar title cannot belong to any other story.

A flash of interest lights up her eyes. The exhaustion has taken over her body. She finds solace in the used pages of her novel waiting to reveal their secrets, and the idea that someone does the same gives her the fuel she needs to stay awake.

Someone is reading the same thing.

Someone's mind is lost into the same world as hers.

Someone who has blond hair.

Lexa doesn't know anything else and her green eyes focus on her copy. She is only a few pages in, but she remembers every detail. The exploration of human nature and its vision of good and bad are out of this world. She is taken hostage by the beauty of the descriptions, the mystery surrounding the fate of the group and the tragedy of lost childhoods in the hands of destiny.

She dives in the philosophical debates that decorate the pages and challenges her own behavior. What would she do in this situation? Would she fight? Give up? Sacrifice her friends to reach safety or a greater form of peace? She likes to think her experience as a lawyer would help, but she isn't convinced.

This kind of story is not for everyone, Lexa thinks, and the fact that someone so close was reading it makes her interested in this stranger. Who is she?

Just for a second, she thinks that somewhere on this planet, there is someone else like her, doing the same things, visiting the same universe.

There is someone else falling in love with the same characters.

There is someone else enjoying the same type of subjects, social issues and moral conflicts.

There is someone else trying to understand why humanity is so hard to preserve.

There is someone else, and she marvels at that thought.

Just for a second, she doesn't feel so alone anymore.

* * *

Clarke's train moves in Arkadia's direction while Lexa's heads towards Polis.

Clarke has no trouble shutting the world out and reading the first few pages of the book. The first lines are enough to convince her that she made a good choice and it takes her less than a minute to feel the urging need to know what will happen next. She empathizes with the young woman who became a leader too fast in such terrible conditions. She finds her heart aching for the double-edged sword that is freedom, but also for the excruciating loneliness that the group experiments. She almost completely disappears into the story.

Her brain keeps going back to the unknown woman reading the same book.

Lexa can't read. She watches the lights flashing before her eyes as the train takes her farther away from her departure point. She can't concentrate. She tries to, but her thoughts keep going back to the one person that set her free from her fortress of solitude, even just for a second. She knows it's probably the only meeting, if she can even call this a meeting, they will have, but she can't help it. She sighs loudly and closes her eyes for a minute. When she opens them, she focuses on the work of fiction and drowns everything else. She manages to read an entire chapter without being distracted.

She figures she shouldn't think about someone she won't see again.

Clarke somehow wishes she needed to go to Polis.

Lexa somehow wishes she needed to go to Arkadia.

* * *

She's finished the book.

She's finished it three times now, but she keeps it in her bag. She only gets it out at the end of the day, when she's done working. She displays it subtly when she walks in the metro station, as if it represents a language of its own, one that she shares only with another person. The extra hours and unexpected emergencies have been piling on her and she hasn't left at the same time in the evening for the past month. She's exhausted, but at the end of every day, she looks for a familiar figure in the metro station.

She scans the crowd. She hasn't found her yet and it is soon going to be ten o'clock.

Raven thinks Clarke is being ridiculous.

"If you want to find her that much, just go on her side of the rails," she tells Clarke on the phone.

The blonde shakes her head, her eyes still trying to find the stranger. She needs to go home soon, but she still has a little bit of time to spare. It's been a month and for a reason she ignores, she can't get over it.

"And what would I do once I find her? No, Rae, I'm staying here as late as I can."

"Well, what will you do if you see her from your side?"

Clarke takes a second to think.

"Look at her?"

"Lame."

"I'm not!"

"You're stalking her," Raven groans. "Clarke, you can't go around stalking people, no matter how cute they are. And you don't even know if she's cute!"

The doctor shrugs. This isn't stalking. She doesn't even know the name of the other woman. This is simply looking around and letting metro trains leave without her aboard. There's no law that tells her she must take the first one she sees. She has time. She can afford to seek someone that may or may not have occupied her mind recently.

She can deny her actions as much as she wants.

She can afford to look for the one person that intrigues her more than anyone else now. It's foolish and stupid, but she can't let it go. She can't forget the feeling that went through her body when she simply had a glimpse of that stranger. It is as if a switch has been pushed. Something in her guts just begs her not to forget this encounter. What are the chances of someone reading this exact same book that she found in the smallest corner of an independent library? She's the one person that might change her routine, Clarke has a strong feeling about this.

"Clarke. Are you even listening to me?"

The blonde isn't listening anymore. Raven's voice comes from a far distance and the words don't connect anymore. She quickly whispers a "see you later" and hangs up. She can apologize later. For the first time in so many days, a silhouette has caught her eyes. Despite the late hour, the station is full of people.

Clarke almost misses her, but the moment she looks up, she knows.

It's her.

She knows it's her. Even though she's never seen her face, even though she's never seen her walk, even though she doesn't anything real about this woman, Clarke knows.

She knows because of the way her heartbeat drastically increases as her hands get sweaty and gross.

She knows because of the way she is suddenly very aware that she has been standing there for over an hour, just waiting for this moment to happen.

She knows because she notices the same book being waved around as the woman moves.

She knows because her entire soul wants to go to the other side, stops the stranger and asks for her name.

She can feel her instinct yelling at her to move her ass, and all she can do is stare.

She's exhausted, so much that she can almost feel her legs shaking. Her mouth is dry and she's only realizing now that she hasn't had dinner yet. She feels dirty and stinky. Her long hours are responsible for the ache in her body and she even shivers when she feels a current of air blowing in her face. She feels like she could sleep for a week without waking up. She wants to sit and not move for the whole night. She wants to call a cab and go home rather than just sit in the middle of other people.

Still, she doesn't move. She memorizes the face of the stranger, every line, every frown or hint of a smile or movement of the eyes. She feels a bit awkward, but she's mesmerized by how beautiful this person is. Adrenaline is flowing through her veins and she loves the way it shocks her to life.

She is still dead tired, but it doesn't matter. This is the most she has felt in months. The soreness, the impatience, the relief, the pain, the way her lips curve to form a smile, the way her skin reacts to the cold wind, the way her head pounds with the rhythm of the ongoing trains and the way her stomach growls when it's empty. The sight of this woman changes her and makes her aware of all the sensations in her body.

In this moment, she is different.

She isn't a perfectly trained doctor, reviewing cases and going from one appointment to another. She isn't a robot trying to go faster every second of the day. She isn't trying to reach excellence with every action she makes. She isn't an emotionless healer, wandering around the dead as if she were one herself.

It's almost as if she could feel again.

A lightning strikes Clarke when green irises meet her blue ones.

* * *

Lexa is annoyed.

Her latest case took way longer than she expected and she will come back home in the middle of the night. She almost decided to stay at her office, but she misses the comfort of her bed. She hasn't gone to her house in three days and her job is slowly starting to crush her sanity. She walks in the station and, like an automatic response, pulls out her book from her bag. She's read it over and over, and knows it by heart.

She still carries it everyday.

It's been a month and she has few expectations of ever seeing the other woman again, but as she arrives to her familiar part of the platform, she feels someone looking at her. It's a small tingle on her skin, but she recognizes it. She's nervous as she looks around, but her features show only calmness. She can feel something. A pressure on the back of her neck. A caress on her cheek. A blanket over her shoulders.

It feels familiar and she can't help but turn her eyes to face the direction from where this all comes from.

She dives into the ocean blue and her breath catches in her throat.

Lexa is petrified, but the contact still feels comfortable.

She notices the blonde's hand waving to her, or at least, she thinks so. She can see the same book being shown clearly in her direction, as a call in a secret code.

She frowns. An invitation to her side of the station? Lexa knows confusion is visible in her eyes. They're also tainted with something else. The urge to go and ask her name. The urge to ask for her phone number or to simply have a conversation about the book. She wants to. She wants to run downstairs and upstairs again to reach the other side. She wants to and she hasn't felt such a yearning in forever, but she still doesn't move.

Why can't she move? She can't look away. She's like a magnet, irresistibly attracted to this person.

So why?

Is it because she's always been on this side and her brain refuses any other option? Is it because that's the way she must finish her day, heading straight home without any detour? Is it routine, tangled up around her limbs and preventing her from taking any step in another direction? It must be. It's probably the habits, chanting her name like a national anthem, and she's attracted to them.

Habits are safe. They're family. They're old promises she never broke. They're contracts she signed too long ago, so long that she has forgotten when they expire. Unfortunately, they're also the reasons why she's stuck in limbo, being this person she doesn't truly like or admire. They're houses but not the homes she needs.

She's scared of what would happen if she moved. She's terrified of any changes. It's all she has ever wanted, to break the chains from this usual boring routine, but at the same time, it's the only road she has ever known, and the thought of abandoning it frightens her.

But is it enough? Is this reason good enough to stop her from moving? The answer is loud and clear in her head. No. But why can't she move? How is it possible for her to want something so badly but remain paralyzed and unable to move?

She tentatively smiles in the stranger's direction. She receives one in exchange. She believes it to be the most beautiful one she's ever seen.

Suddenly, she isn't consumed with all her problems at work anymore. She isn't annoyed and beaten up by her schedule. She isn't trying to make sense of what's black and what's white anymore. She isn't attacked by nightmares of a pointless future anymore. She can hear her mind thanking her for this short break.

She feels good. She realizes how long it has been since the last time she felt her muscles relaxing, one after another. She takes a step forwards before realizing that she can't cross the rails simply by walking straight ahead.

She can't control those feelings of longing that are taking over her body. She almost can't recognize it for what it is because it has been so long since she's felt so attracted to someone else. She's hypnotized by the beating of her heart, as if it is the very first time she's hearing it.

She waits for something to happen.

They stare at each other for a few seconds that last forever.

She sighs. It doesn't matter. She can't move in any direction but hers.

She blinks when the metro on the other side arrives.

She opens her eyes and she is alone.

The stranger is nowhere to be seen.

She feels her heart shatter a little. The beating stumbles and momentarily stops, and she desperately tries to ignore it. A few seconds ago, she was overwhelmed by the need to meet someone new, someone who might be right for her, who she might be right for, but now she feels the devastating journey back to her own lonely island. Disappointment tastes bad and she has a whole plate in front of her.

She wishes she could go back to not feeling anything, but something has changed, and she can't do anything about it.

Lexa tries to shrug the disenchantment away. It's harder than chasing the twisted stories she hears after a day in the office. It's harder than anything she has done in the past months.

It's hard to admit that she has developed an attraction to a person she doesn't know.

She's about to enter her own ride when she hears a word.

A single word that gets her hopes up again despite all her resistance.

"Wait!"

* * *

They stand on their own side, going in their own direction. They stand and stare at each other for a few minutes that transform into hours. They can't look away from the color of the other's eyes. They are seeing for the first time after being born completely blind.

The distance between them is incredibly small compared to the scale of the universe, but just like the cosmos, it is impossible to cross.

The distance is safe.

It's comforting for the both of us, for people like them, who need time for themselves as much as the air they breathe to stay alive. It's a safety box in which they put their heart to be protected against adversity. It's an excuse to stay emotionally detached and give their behavior a reason to exist. But that same distance is poison, a venom that is preventing them from moving forward, killing them slowly until they are unable to do anything. It's a curse disguised as a stunning gift.

They are separated by only a few meters, but it seems like an aggressive sea sending giant waves and thunder bolts remains between them, making it impossible to see the safe land on the other end. They can hear the sirens calling their names and promising them the greatest treasures, but they refuse to be lured into this false paradise. They refuse to take a chance, to believe that maybe, just this time, if they allow themselves to feel, the clouds will go away and the sirens' chants will be replaced by a gentle orchestra.

They are tortured between the need to move and the urge to remain in place. They want to reach out for each other. They want to know how the other's skin feels against theirs. They are ready to travel a million miles away to get to one another, to beat the speed of light in a life-changing race, to fly lightyears away to join the other. They could rent a car or buy a plane ticket simply to reach the other side of the rails.

They are frozen in place.

Maybe it's because their jobs teach them that hope is a luxury and they must be careful on when they can afford it. Maybe it's because they have both saved and destroyed lives, and they don't know if they deserve happiness anymore. Maybe it's because they are both thinking of leaving this town soon and the thought of having a reason to stay scares them. Maybe it's because they both want a reason to stay, but they are afraid they won't find it here. Maybe they just don't want to have their heart broken.

It's a fight for what might become real.

Lexa loses.

Clarke wins.

She dashes to the other side.

"Wait!"

* * *

Clarke is trying to remind herself to breathe as they walk to the nearest coffee house.

She made the first move. Now what?

She can feel the tension in the air between them like an elastic ready to snap at any moment. She listens to the way Lexa's steps sound on the ground. She smells the subtle scent coming from Lexa's hair. She tries not to look at Lexa's features too much, but she still turns her head slightly to the side.

She has Lexa's agreement to go grab a drink memorized already.

She can feel the blood being pumped in her arteries and the rhythm is so strong that she thinks she is becoming deaf to the external sounds. She can feel the need to run boiling in her spine but she resists temptation. She feels gross and sweaty and she only realizes now that she is coming back from work, from a day spent with dying people and germs and body fluids. She's nervous and the thought of Lexa knowing that makes her even more anxious for their future conversation.

They sit at the table near the window and Clarke almost stops breathing when she sees Lexa facing her. This is it. This is the moment she has been waiting for since she first saw her. She notices the way Lexa slightly pulls her chair closer to hers, and it takes all of her will not to smile like there is no tomorrow.

The silence lasts an infinite minute during which they take a quiet sip of their drinks.

"What's your book?" Clarke pronounces casually, mentally kicking herself for asking.

The blonde nearly rolls her eyes at how lame she sounds. The reason they are in the same place right now is because they read the same book.

"What's yours?" Lexa fires back with a quiet confidence that sparks Clarke's interest even more.

The doctor smirks. She puts the book on the table and pushes it towards the other woman.

"I think you would enjoy it."

Lexa raises an eyebrow. She takes the book and flips the pages quickly, pretending to see it for the first time. Her eyes recognize every word and her nose dwells in the scent of the newly printed novel.

"I think you're right," Lexa agrees. "It sounds familiar, but I think mine might be better."

She pushes her version of the book on the table. It's older and the pages are wrinkled from the many times she's turned them, over and over while waiting for this fateful meeting. Clarke carefully goes through it, rediscovering a story from another angle.

"Do you mind if I keep it? So I can confirm it isn't better than mine?"

"No," Lexa shakes her head in amusement. "Do you mind?"

"It's all yours."

They smile. They aren't surprised of this outcome.

"I'm sorry if this is sudden," Clarke starts to ramble while staring at her cup. "I don't want to keep you here if you're busy. It's a bit late. I would understand if you had to leave or if you had to wake up early for work. I don't usually ask strangers for a drink, in case you were wondering. I don't want you to think I'm stalking you or anything. Tell me if I'm being creepy. Or don't. I mean, you must think I'm insane, but I just saw you on the other side and – "

"You can breathe, you know?"

"Can I?"

"It's your decision," Lexa shrugs, erasing the last bit of discomfort between the two of them.

Clarke takes a giant gulp of air and holds it, wiggling her eyebrows at the person sitting next to her. She looks around and acts like she is swimming. She moves her arms around and pretends like she is drowning. She makes a praying motion to plead Lexa to save her and tries to keeps her mouth shut despite the urge to laugh. She dances on her chair and opens her mouth without sucking any air in her lungs. She can feel her chest starting to burn from the lack of oxygen and releases carbon dioxide.

"It's your decision, but I strongly recommend you breathe," Lexa chuckles at the silliness of the other woman.

The blonde inhales loudly. She would have loved to keep going, just to hear that laugh again. It rings in her ears like a timeless melody.

"Thank you for the advice."

"You wouldn't survive very long in a post-apocalyptic world, would you?"

Clarke ponders about her answer for a few seconds before she decides to take the chance.

"Not without you," she winks.

Lexa almost stops moving at the flirtatious tone of voice that she receives. Mostly, she winces at the way her body reacts to the voice. She likes it, but a part of her denies it. Still, her heart flutters.

"Does that mean we'll meet again in a far future where everything is a wasteland?"

"Before that, I hope," Clarke murmurs.

Lexa nods. She hopes too. She can't stop looking at the way Clarke swallows her drink, slowly like she is savoring every drop of it. It leaves a trace of milk on her lips, and she licks them in a way that makes the lawyer wonders how they taste like. She wonders how soft the skin of her neck is, how it would react under her touch and how it would feel under her tongue.

She's suddenly aware that she's been staring in silence for the last minute and a pink shadow colors her cheeks.

Clarke is not better. She can sense the blood rushing to her brain and extremities. She can discern the effects of adrenaline going from one part of her body to another. She has a thousand reasons to regret saying that, to find some excuse and explain herself, pretend like she isn't flirting at all, but she ignores them all. She's thankful she hasn't made a fool of herself.

"I'm not in a hurry," Lexa announces to break the silence and points to the empty glasses. "You asked earlier. Do you have time to stay for another one?"

Please, she wants to say, stay. Just for a night, just in this place, in the middle of the lights of the city and the obscurity of the night. Stay in this place untouched by the laws of physics.

"Of course. My treat."

"I can't accept that."

"You can pay next time?"

Next time. Those words sound like a promise Lexa will never break. She beams at the look in Clarke's eyes.

"Only if next time is tomorrow?" Lexa offers.

Clarke almost breaks her face in half when she grins at the idea. She has never felt so good after a hard day at work, and she wants to know if this is temporary, or if this is the beginning of forever.

She thinks it is the beginning of forever.

"Wait for me at the metro station? I never know when I finish work," she mentions.

It doesn't bother Lexa. It feels like she has waited a lifetime already, so a couple more hours don't bother her. And she's not about to admit to Clarke that she would have waited even without another meeting planned. She knows she can see Clarke from a mile away. Her beauty always takes her breath away.

"What do you do?" She questions.

She wants to know everything there is to know.

She barely knows the woman and she already live in her words and her sense of humor. She already has a home in the azure of her eyes and the sunny taste of her hair.

Her insecurities come knocking on the door, but she dismisses them. She doesn't want to hear them tonight. Tomorrow during the day, she can worry about her future. Tomorrow night, she can rest her spirit in the charming company of her new friend.

"I'm a doctor."

As soon as she pronounces these words, Clarke sees herself standing in empty halls, hearing the patients' families crying and begging for mercy. She can perceive the way a weak man walks after surgery, the way a bed creaks when someone turns in it, the way a toilet flushes when there is nothing but bile and stomach acid in it. She imagines the walls stained with blood and the floor covered with guts. And she pictures herself, taking in everything, and yet, not feeling anything. She sees herself immune to human emotions.

She is stunned by how she feels right now, the complete opposite. Too many thoughts fight in her mind and too many feelings try to conquer her body.

"I'm a lawyer. A prosecutor" Lexa replies.

In a moment of mutual understanding, they stop talking. Clarke welcomes the information. A lawyer. A hard job as well. It doesn't take her long to decrypt the unspoken words. Lexa understands the reality of her role. The difficult choices they must make during their days, and the grim consequences that can follow.

The dilemma of which life to save and which to let go.

She wonders how much they can bring to one another.

She wonders how much they can free one another.

She wonders if they both live with the same cloud of numbness following them.

They're not the same, but their worlds are still similar. They still collide and fit perfectly together.

"I forgot to ask you. What's your name?" Clarke asks with a voice that conveys all her gratitude for this small moment of peace of mind.

"Lexa," the green-eyed woman answers like she is sharing classified information.

Clarke loves the way it resonates within her soul.

Lexa is freedom.

"What's yours?" The brunette murmurs as if this moment was too fragile to speak loudly.

"Clarke." The blonde whispers with the same tone.

Lexa loves the way it makes her world pause for a moment.

Clarke is liberty.

* * *

Time doesn't stop for anyone and too soon, the clocks rule again. The moon is high in the sky when they leave the café, both wishing they could spend the entire night exchanging so many words that they would have to create new ones just to express themselves.

The two women run towards their respective directions when they catch sight of their last trains waiting for the few late passengers to embark. They barely have time to wave a quick goodbye before they are engulfed in the underground darkness of the tunnels leading them home. The roaring growl echoing around them is not enough to mute the memory of the other's voice.

Lexa looks through the window.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

It's a never-ending succession of white and blue lights shining on the walls. It's not enough to distract her from thinking about Clarke. She holds the book close to her chest. She feels energy coming from it to wake her up as if the simple fact that it belongs to the blonde is enough to give greater superpowers to the novel. She feels better, but it's not enough to keep the sour thoughts away.

She curses the night.

She blames the night for her nightmares about the criminals, the victims, the people, her own persona. She blames it for the insomnia that never seems to leave her alone and the dizziness that threatens her when she thinks too much about her past, or present, or future. She blames it for the constant agony that inhabit her when the sun isn't there to protect her anymore.

And now, she also blames the night for being on her way back to her place rather than staying with Clarke in the comfort of the low lights suspended from the ceiling.

She feels sad. She hasn't felt sadness for so long and it's back.

She doesn't want to go home.

Home is full of voices screeching that she made the wrong choices. Home is always chanting about her mistakes, her flaws and her abandoned dreams. Home is nothing but her past hating her present, her present imploring her future to save her, and her future telling her she will never be good enough. Home stops her from improving.

Home is lifeless and eternally colorless to her eyes. Home is cold, and quiet, and lonely. It's too lonely now that she knows how it feels like to be in perfect company. It's too quiet now that she has heard Clarke's voice singing to her ears. It's too cold without the proximity of the other woman to warm her skin.

Home isn't home, but she still unlocks the door and sits on the bed because she has nowhere else to go.

She only now realizes how hard it is for her to stay in this place.

She feels nothing good about it anymore.

Clarke's presence has activated a switch in her head.

She sighs to shatter the nearly indestructible silence and finds comfort in the book she's been given this evening. It smells like what she guesses is Clarke's house, and that thought immediately makes her feel better. She doesn't know how to process the feeling of missing someone, and she pushes it back to the depth of her conscience. She opens the first page and her heart skips a beat when she notices a curvy handwriting.

Clarke's phone number.

* * *

 **Part 2 soon.**


	2. The future

**Part 2**

It's been two weeks since their second meeting. It went well. Incredibly well, and they both feel like they are five years old again and having their first crush on the new girl.

They have yet to find another moment to themselves. All they've done is trade small salutations while being separated by hundreds of lethal volts between them. It still makes their chest hurt anxiously from the need to be together. It's too much, but it's not enough at the same time.

It's driving Clarke crazy, and the increasing amount of cases she is responsible for makes her want to pull her hair one by one instead. When she slams her apartment's door for the third time this week, she knows she needs to change something if she doesn't want to lose herself in a maze of negativity.

She dislikes her life. She needs to move out, drive to a new city, get a new job or pursue the dreams she once had when she was a kid. She needs to stop being stuck into a world she doesn't like. She needs to stop coming home tired and leaving the next morning even more exhausted. She feels like she has lived a thousand years and she hasn't found happiness yet. She wants to get away. She needs courage to do all those things and she can't find it anymore.

Every choice she thinks about seems to lead to a dead end. A temporary solution that won't last.

She dives into the best defense mechanisms she knows: humour and denial.

She makes a quick dinner while Netflix is playing in the background, providing her enough noise to help her forget she has been alone ever since she moved out of the family house. It's a comedy and it distracts her from her own problems. She eats quickly when she realizes how starved she is from a day full of surgeries and promises herself never to wait that long again. She makes that promise nearly every week and she has yet to find a solution.

She eats too much and takes a quick shower that doesn't make her feel clean. She can almost see the blood still tainting her clothes and hands. She can almost hear it dripping to the floor. She can almost smell it as it coagulates around her.

She jumps into bed and reflects on her day, the way she always does even if she should let it all go. She had three losses today. Two kids from a car accident and one woman from a surgery that shouldn't have happened. She didn't cry and she won't. She knows she won't, even though the rock in her stomach is still there. These deaths could've been avoided had she not rushed them in the OR. They didn't have enough strength to survive the operation, and she missed that crucial point. She's a soldier fighting death, but she never seems to win the war.

She can't handle the pressure anymore.

She's almost asleep when her phone rings.

She braces herself for a late-night emergency that she probably won't want to deal with, but sees an unknown number instead. She almost doesn't answer, but the tiniest curious part of her convinces her.

"Hello?" Clarke asks, masking the fatigue from her voice.

No one talks and the blonde wonders if she is hallucinating or worse, having a lucid dream that will only show her the worse parts of her.

"Is anyone there?"

She hears a muffled movement in the background and waits. There is someone on the other end of the line. It takes many seconds before she finally gets a sign of life, long enough to wonder if this is a late prank call.

"I woke you up," a voice whispers. "I'm so sorry."

A quick glance to her phone informs Clarke that it is past one in the morning.

Still, she jolts awake and the soreness of her body is gone.

"I was wondering when you would call," Clarke says with a teasing voice.

"I was nervous," Lexa admits.

"What happened to the three days rule?" Clarke laughs.

The answer doesn't come and Clarke is afraid she scared the woman away.

"I'm kidding, Lexa."

Lexa softly gasps. It's the first time she hears Clarke pronounce her name and it feels like she is born again. In the emptiness of her room, on the other side of the town, in a complete different district, Lexa hopes she can hear her name again. She wants Clarke to say it, to pronounce it like it is the first time every time, to scream it when she is searching for her in a crowd, to moan it when they are melting into one another.

"Am I bothering you?" Lexa asks.

"Never," Clarke chuckles.

In the moonlight, a smile illuminates Lexa's room brighter than the most brilliant stars in the sky.

"What are you up to?" The blonde's voice chirps.

Lexa thinks about her answer for longer than she wants to. How does she admit to a person she's barely talked to that she only calls because she misses her voice and her presence? How does she explain that the loneliness is too much for her and that the only way to break it is to call Clarke? How does she share her vulnerability without making a fool of herself? How does she start a conversation interesting enough so that Clarke won't choose sleep over her?

How does she tell Clarke that she cares immensely about her without this confession being too much too soon?

"I wanted to hear your voice," she declares cautiously.

It's small but it's everything.

Clarke's breath hitches and she is stunned by the way happiness charges her body. She feels the same. She wants to hear Lexa's voice just as much, but she didn't have her number yet. She had been hoping for that call for so long that it seems unreal and she wonders if she is dreaming. She wonders how it is that a simple sentence can teleport her to cloud nine within seconds.

"It's been a while since we talked. Are you ready to admit my book is better?" Lexa continues.

"Never?!" Clarke scoffs while muffling a laugh and welcoming the light atmosphere.

"Come on, Clarke, just say the word and make a woman happy?"

The blonde almost falls of her bed at the way her name is pronounced, so clear that each letter might as well be made of crystal. It rings in her ears and vibrates in her mind until the very last sound disappears. She misses it already. She adores the way Lexa says it, like her name is synonym of power and softness. Her entire self exists on this planet again.

"I love my book," Clarke mutters.

"I love mine more."

"I love mine the most."

"I love mine more than the most!" Lexa retorts with a confidence Clarke can only be electrified by.

"Is it a contest?"

"One I'm clearly winning."

Lexa smirks even though Clarke can't see her, but she knows they both can guess her facial expression right now. She's lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling with her phone pressed to her ear and it almost feels like Clarke is next to her. She pays attention to every stimulus she hears from the other side and somehow, it doesn't feel like they are so far anymore. She can hear the way Clarke inhales and exhales, the way the wind blows on the other side and the way the clock counts every second. It feels more intimate than any other interaction she's ever had with a woman before. It feels real. It feels honest, pure.

For the first time, this empty bedroom feels like a true home, just because of Clarke.

"Alright, your highness, what do you win?" Clarke proposes with a teasing voice.

"I prefer Commander."

"Is this conversation going to a weird fetish kink because…"

"Clarke!"

The blonde's boldness impresses Lexa, but it also makes her how far they can travel on that route. The lawyer still gets a flashing image of the other woman arching her back under her touch and begging her to be taken, and suddenly, her sheets are made of fire and she is sweating.

"Commander Lexa, what prize would you like to claim?"

The voice is hoarse and it makes Lexa stumble. There are about a hundred things Lexa wants right now, most of them involving Clarke in her bed, their lips pressed together, their naked bodies colliding in a sensual dance, their instincts throwing every sense of control away. She wonders what Clarke's voice would sound like if she was panting her name and breathing hard in her ears. She wonders how soft her skin is and how it would taste if she licked it.

And on the other side of the town, Clarke's body is trembling under the weight of arousal.

"You," Lexa swallows the desire away.

She wants Clarke. She's only realizing how much right now.

But she doesn't want her body only, even though she can only imagine how mind-blowing it would feel.

She wants Clarke. Everything about her. Everything Clarke knows about herself, and every little detail she will discover through the future years.

They've only met, but Lexa has never been surer of something before. She would plead guilty for having the biggest crush on the other woman within seconds.

"I want to take you out on a date," Lexa clarifies.

Clarke lives in those words. Her answer explodes in her mind. It's loud and clear and obvious.

"I would love to."

Lexa thinks this might be the beginning of the best part of her life.

"If you admit my book is better…"

Lexa shakes her head in disbelief but her giggles give her away.

"But then I would lose the contest and there would be no prize anymore."

"Why must you be right?" Clarke sighs. "I would be happy to go on a date with you."

"When are you free?"

Clarke feels her luck turns the other way. She has no free time at all. She has work stamped all over her agenda for the next two weeks, and after that, she'll probably have new stamps for the next days. She has extra hours piling up on her in a way that should be illegal. She can't control when people get hurt and she certainly can't tell death to wait for her to have a date with a beautiful girl. Her ribcage is crushing her heart little by little as her annoyance increases.

"It's okay, Clarke. We can schedule something later if you'd prefer?"

"It's not that… it's that, even later, I don't know when I will have a moment off."

But Clarke doesn't want "later" or "eventually" or "the next week." She wants now. Later is too late. It's too much time wasted.

"Being an adult is fun, isn't it?"

Something about the way Lexa speaks to her, truthfully and authentically, makes Clarke refuse to hide anymore. She feels her armor slowly vanishing as she opens her mouth and lets herself acknowledge that she isn't okay. It doesn't feel like a terrible thing to do anymore. It feels human.

"It's hard," she whispers. "The long nights. The days spent between four walls."

Lexa nods. She knows Clarke can sense it. She can hear the ache behind this sentence.

"It's just… hard."

Clarke doesn't want to talk about the many deaths, but Lexa has a sharp mind and she guesses it.

"You work in a hospital. You work with sickness as your enemy. It is not an easy battle, Clarke."

Maybe it's the moon or the influence of the whole galaxy moving around the little blue dot, but Clarke thinks a part of her might be healed from those words. It's a tiny part, but she feels a lot better. Lexa is the courage she's always needed to face her wounds.

"You work in a difficult place. You must constantly adapt. I know how that feels. It drains your energy and you try to convince yourself you can stay for that extra hour, but you can't. You wake up wanting to go back home even though you've never left it. You go to sleep wanting to take up in a different city, a different bedroom, a different life. You want to stay but everything hints you to leave. You want to leave but you're too scared of the unknown. I know how you feel."

"That's the problem, Lexa. I don't feel. There are so many deaths. And the worst part is, I'm not even sad anymore. I feel nothing. I see a corpse and I don't see a story behind it anymore. I just see it for what it is, organs and skins glued together with fat and muscles. I've become what I don't want to be. Sometimes I don't recognize myself."

Lexa knows. She knows that feeling too. She knows that absence of feelings too well. She wants to cry when she hears Clarke's broken voice again.

"I don't know who I am anymore. And if I don't know, how can I expect anyone to know me? How can I expect anyone to appreciate me? I'm lost. I'm not just lost in the city, in the familiar streets and signs. I'm lost within myself. I'm… nothing anymore. Nothing I do makes me proud anymore. Nothing I think about makes sense anymore."

"Clarke…"

"Listen, please. Listen to me."

The brunette hears a cry for help. She wonders when was the last time someone sat next to Clarke to tell her everything was going to be alright. She wants to be that for Clarke. She wants to be her safety place. She wants to be her oasis.

"It feels like it's me versus everyone else. Everyone has a goal. Everyone is going somewhere. Everyone knows what they want. I don't. I thought I did, but I was wrong. I have a successful job. I have a degree from med school. I'm set for the rest of my life! And if you could see the apartment I have right now. It's beautiful. It's got a great view on the east side of the city and it's spacious and modern and everything I want. But I still come back here at night and feel that I like it a little less every day. So what's the point of going to work every morning? What's the point if the job I do takes the life out of me? What's the point if I'm not myself anymore? What's the point if I feel like I'm going nowhere else, like I'm done with this place."

"What's the point if you don't see a future here anymore…" Lexa says in a barely audible tone.

Clarke breathes hard on the phone, as if she ran a marathon just a minute ago. She feels all those unspoken words trying to reach the open air. She feels her body shakes from the load of secrets she needs to spill. She feels like she is about to implode from the overload of rants that wants to surface from her throat.

It doesn't feel good. It feels like she's going to die from everything she should have said sooner. It feels like she's suffocating and there's no air, no oxygen left for her. There's no air in her lungs and her brain is slowly shutting down. She's the last person on this planet and no one will save her when she needs it most.

"You want to save everyone, but you can't."

Somewhere from the horizon, Lexa's voice manages to bring back Clarke on this planet, in this reality.

"I wish I could, too. I wish I could tell the man who murdered his wife because he heard voices ordering him around that he is forgiven, but I can't. I wish I could tell the woman who killed her child because he was suffering from an incurable sickness that she isn't a bad person, but I can't. I wish I could tell the struggling wife that her husband didn't commit a crime that will send him to prison for twenty years without parole, but I can't. And I wish I could tell the poor man that his best friend survived the forty-three knife stabs he received, but I can't. I wish I could make it painless to the people who lose their favorite person unexpectedly, but I can't. I send people to jail. I try to bring peace to a victim. But it never works. It's never enough. Instead, I just create more victims, those who see their loved one being sent away for decades. It's impossibly hard to do this job without a shell. I know what you mean, Clarke, when you say you don't feel anything. Trust me."

"Tell me."

"There are no good guys. Not the way you imagine there are. It's like in the book. There is no solution that will make everyone appeased. It makes my job labyrinthine when it comes to finding who is to be blamed or not, who's the real victim."

There's something comforting about knowing she isn't the only one struggling, even if it means Lexa is going through hell too. Clarke mentally slaps herself for thinking that. She wants the best for Lexa, but right now, she isn't alone.

Right now, she feels something. Everything.

Again and again, just with Lexa, Clarke feels again.

The joy and the melancholy, the euphoria and the grief.

The delight and the distress, the anxiety and the tranquility.

The vague feeling of interest.

The excitement.

The gratitude.

The vague trace of love.

"Do you love your life, Clarke?"

There is no answer.

"The dead are gone, Clarke. The livings are hungry. And so are you. You want more and you are right. You deserve more. You should listen to the part of you that tells you what you need to do to love your life. Only then will you be fully satisfied. No one else will live your life. No one else will experience what you go through during the day, but you."

Lexa almost shrugs when she finishes her sentence. She should follow her own advices.

Lexa encourages Clarke to leave and listen her ambitions, her hopes, her pursue of happiness, despite her internal voice screaming for her to stay because they just started knowing each other. They've just started and she never wants it to end. They just met, and she hasn't had enough. She doesn't think she ever will. But if Clarke wants to leave, Lexa will only support her.

Clarke is the reminder that there is still time to do something else.

Clarke could be her reason to trade her conflicting life for a better one.

Clarke is a miracle in Lexa's life. She will leave this town if it means she can still see her.

* * *

When is the ideal moment to say "I love you"?

Lexa wrestles with the question over and over and is unable to find any answer. She has always thought it would be easy to figure out. After all, one feels and one speaks, and it's supposed to be the end of the mystery. If she feels something, shouldn't she be able to say it loud and clear? Shouldn't it just come naturally, without her having to think about it, to turn this thought in her head until the end of times? Especially when she's been numbing her emotions for so long, the feeling of such a strong attraction should make her want to claim it to the world.

She discovers that it's so much harder.

She isn't even sure if this is love and at the same time, she knows deeply in her heart that it cannot be anything else. But if it isn't and she confesses to Clarke, it would ruin everything. And if it is, and she doesn't say anything, she will be miserable. And if she isn't sure and she says it, would it be a lie? Would she make such earth-shattering declaration without being so sure that she would bet her life on it?

What is love? How is she sure that it is the most powerful feeling in the world?

Is it because every time she sees Clarke, she feels like she can conquer any obstacles thrown at her? Is it because of the way she suddenly becomes aware of her clothes, her appearance, her words, her tone, her actions and everything else she does? Is it because of the way she wants to become the best version of herself just to minimally fool herself to believe that she deserves someone like Clarke? Is it the way she knows she won't ever deserve her, but she still wants to try because there is no one else she would rather be with? Is it because every time they say goodbye, she is back in her dull achromatic universe?

Is it because Clarke makes her feel so strong but so weak at the same time?

"Lexa?"

Clarke waves her hand in front of the familiar green eyes.

"Sorry. I was thinking."

They're sitting on a balcony that dominates the city. It's the rooftop of the highest building in the city and she invited Clarke there for their fifth official date. Glasses of red wine are waiting in front of them.

The two women have agreed to take their relationship slow, but they both regret it already. Regardless, they are having the best time. They spent the first hour pretending to be from the royal dynasty.

Clarke dreams of days spent with Lexa's hand in hers rather than sporadic meetings after a day at work.

Lexa dreams of nights spent in Clarke's arms rather than the small embrace they share when they say goodbye.

"Wine, the sunset, the exquisite view… is this how you impress the ladies?"

Lexa laughs.

"I usually get my hot air balloon and do a tour of the area, but maybe some other day."

"I can't wait then," Clarke winks.

Lexa smiles.

"You're the only lady I want to impress."

Clarke shakes her head in disbelief but says nothing. There is something remarkably romantic in this scenery and she wonders if she would feel the same with someone else by her side, or if Lexa makes everything more beautiful, more magnificent. She doesn't have to think much to know the answer. It's Lexa. It's always her.

It's no wonder that Clarke now imagines a better tomorrow.

When she plans her week, she always makes sure she has time to see Lexa. When she organizes her extra hours, she sets three interminable days per weeks so she can have shorter days later. When she gets something to eat, she wonders if Lexa would like it. When she walks by a place she particularly enjoys, she wonders if Lexa would find the same joy in the landscape. When she arrives home and drops dead on her bed, she wonders if Lexa is getting the rest she needs to go through her day. When she has a rare day off, she misses Lexa.

And now, when she thinks about leaving her job and moving on, she wonders if Lexa would go with her.

Lexa is everywhere.

"Who said I could be impressed?" Clarke smirks.

"I did."

"What if you're wrong?"

"What if I'm right, your highness?"

Lexa wiggles her eyebrows as Clarke rolls her eyes.

The sky sends a refreshing breeze in their way as the sun slowly leaves to wake up the other side of the globe. The blonde somehow wants to follow it. Follow the scorching sphere wherever it goes so she won't ever have to close her eyes and miss a moment with Lexa. They could live in a plane and follow the stars. They could move to a country where the sun never sets and start again.

"I like this," Clarke declares while motioning to the way the city stretches under them. "Sometimes I don't realize how small I am in this place."

"Clarke, you deserve the best," Lexa whispers. "I've told you a hundred times and I will repeat it until you believe me."

But Clarke doesn't want the most powerful person in the world, the 1% of the 1%. She doesn't want sumptuous dinners and sparkling jewelry. She doesn't want to swim into pools of money or drive the most expensive cars. She doesn't to try the rarest meals or the most extravagant drinks. She doesn't want to climb to the edge of the world every day in a different country or dive into the turquoise lakes of the planet. She doesn't want glory and fame, and empty promises, and she knows Lexa would never do that.

Tonight is exactly what she wants. It brings her a type of happiness that no money will ever be able to buy.

"Would you believe me if I said you were the best?"

"No."

Lexa's answer is definitive and said with so much assurance that Clarke almost breaks the moment by snorting.

"You are. You're the best to me."

Lexa doesn't say anything, but she feels the way the ambience changes around them. Something shifts. It doesn't really matter if she feels like she isn't the best. Clarke has her own vision and maybe, maybe someday Lexa will understand where it comes from.

Clarke turns her chair to face Lexa's. They've been sitting side by side for too long and she misses the way her eyes lose themselves in the green paradises. She hesitates a moment, but then slips her hand in Lexa's. It feels warm and fits perfectly with hers, and she wants to leave it there for as long as she can.

"I told you already, but… I don't feel anything. I don't feel anything when I'm at work, when I'm running errands or even when I talk to my family. The only person I get along with is Raven, my best friend. I've lost contact with so many people from school, so many great people. But when I'm with you, it's different."

"Clarke."

"I don't miss anyone. Even Raven."

"Clarke."

"I don't feel anything, but when I'm with you, I feel too much. It's almost impossible for me to process it. When I'm with you, it feels like I can never get enough of you. When you're not here, I miss you so much that it feels like a torture that will never stop. So much happen in my body, in my mind, and I don't know what to do anymore. You make me reacquainted with the version of me I thought I lost forever."

Lexa can only listen as Clarke speaks what is on her mind. They are both facing each other, but the heaviness of the words forces them to look at the city rather than each other. They pretend to be captivated by the purple and pink skies, the dark blue clouds and the orange glow from the skyline.

"Let me know if I'm just going crazy. Let me know if I'm the only one feeling this. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm on top of the world sipping wine. Be honest."

The blonde's eyes burn holes in Lexa's head. Lexa remains silent. She has a million things to say and she doesn't know where to start. She wants to tell Clarke that this isn't an illusion. This isn't a mirage, a game or a temporary rush. This isn't a lifetime promise either. It's the beginning of something. She doesn't know if it will last or if it will crash into the nearest wall. She has no idea if it will destroy her life or transform it in a fairytale. But she knows one thing.

"I feel the same," she breathes out.

"We've only had five dates," Clarke mentions.

"And these were the five best evenings of my life, so don't you dare discredit them," Lexa grins.

A quick squeeze of her hand lets her know that Clarke understands.

Lexa feels like a wave of affection just crashed into her. It makes her dizzy and lightheaded. She is overwhelmed by the pure joy bubbling in her heart, threatening everything else, every other thought crossing her mind. She can't control the smile on her face. It hurts her cheeks but she doesn't care. She feels like she could run a marathon at light speed. Her stomach is playing dodgeball with her other organs and she feels butterflies everywhere. She looks at Clarke, and all she feels is the need to be closer to this woman. She wants to be hers.

She cares so much about her that it hurts. It hurts because what if she can't love her right. What if she makes a mistake and ends up being the one to hurt her? What if, God forbids, she breaks her heart?

She cares and it scares her more than she's ever been before.

She cares and it makes her wants to run away.

But she loves her. She loves her and it's the only thing she should focus on.

"I feel so much with you, Clarke. That's why I…"

She can't say it.

Something prevents her from saying it and she can't let those words out.

"That's why I brought you here," Lexa finishes with a bitter taste in her mouth. "You're special. I wanted to share this place with you. You're the first and probably last to come here with me. I love it."

Clarke nods. She is transported by the unspoken words. She knows. She knows what Lexa almost said and it doesn't matter if it never came out. It's enough. It's more than enough.

"I love it too," she answers with her eyes focused on Lexa.

They say nothing for a while, both terrified of ruining the moment. The sun is replaced by the moon in an astral tango and Clarke is enchanted by the opportunity to be here with Lexa. She almost believes that they rule the planet.

The bottle of wine is empty at their feet when they leave in the middle of the night.

Lexa doesn't want to go home.

And she doesn't.

* * *

The apartment is lifeless when they step in. It's so dark that the only signs of life are their shadows decorating the empty walls of Clarke's bedroom. They're walking into dangerous territories but they couldn't care less. The omnipresent silence is all they can listen as they watch each other closely move around the piece. They walk back and forth, closer and farther away, almost touching, but never giving in to their desires. It's a chess game but they both act like they don't know how to win the game.

Clarke takes a step towards Lexa. Its echoes and makes them both feel the tension between them. They are dancing in an invisible maze and the only exit that exist leads to a collision of their respective galaxies. They are pulled together like they are each other's gravity. They feel the lust crawling up their skin and entering their bodies in an inevitable meeting. The entire place is waiting for them to give in to their urges.

When they kiss, the rhythm of their hearts rockets to the moon and lands back on Earth the way an astronaut would; at a speed so high that they almost get sick in the most pleasurable way. The feeling is small but powerful, like the few seconds of free falling after jumping off a plane. Their lips press together and the new sensation is explored completely as their tongues gently brush against one another. It's soft and wet, and they can both taste the wine they had a few hours ago.

It's exhilarating and Lexa finds herself being pressed against the closed door with Clarke's hands holding her waist like a sailor lost at sea would hold on to a lifebelt.

Their breaths mix and their teeth bump together but the pain is temporary. Their movements increase in speed and the hard door is all that hold the brunette standing as the blonde's hands travel up and down. She moves her lips to Lexa's neck and she discovers the softest skin to kiss, bite, suck. Her lover's reaction fills her with more desire.

Lexa's body arches deliciously as Clarke's kisses grow fiercer. She feels a familiar need between her legs and wetness ruining her underwear. Her mind is taken over by images of Clarke taking her against the door, making her orgasm too many times for them to count, holding her trembling body and carrying it to the bed to have her way with her once again.

She bites her lower lip when Clarke's mouth moves south. The blonde discards both shirts that separate them. Bras go flying across the room next and within seconds, their breasts press together in a way that makes them both crave more. Clarke's tongue circle a nipple that is already hard from lust. She nibbles and sucks and lives for the way Lexa moans and pants in her ears. She is careful not to leave a hickey, but the wildest part of her wants nothing more than to mark this woman forever.

She takes her time and Lexa slips a hand behind Clarke's head, holding it closer and tangling her fingers in golden hair.

She moves back to kiss Lexa's bruised mouth as her hands remains to the woman's waistline. She thinks she hears Lexa asking her to take it off, but she ignores it. She wants to make it last. She licks a trail on Lexa's skin from her lips, to her neck, to her chest and stomach. It's salty and it doesn't really have a distinct flavor, but Lexa is becoming all that Clarke wants to taste for the rest of her days.

She presses her naked chest against hers as she moves back up and feels fingers digging into her back, drawing a road to her lower back. It sends her reeling when she thinks about where those fingers could be instead. Her own breathing speeds up and she recognizes the dripping sensation between her legs.

She bites Lexa's lower lips, eliciting a loud groan as she moves one leg between hers. She can feel the heat escaping from the woman's pants and she loves it. She loves that she can have Lexa stuck between the door and her body.

Lexa closes her eyes and mentally pleads for Clarke to touch her. The pressure between her legs is not enough to satisfy her and it drives her to a kind of madness that can only be cured with two fingers deep into her core. She pulls Clarke's hair gently back to try and communicate, but all she receives is the feeling of the blonde smiling against her skin.

"Clarke…"

She tries to adopt a menacing tone, but it sounds like she is a slave pleading for freedom.

She carries her dirty thoughts in her mind as she feels her underwear getting more and more soaked as time passes. She tries to find solace in the hard surface behind her, imagining that it is made of ice glacial enough to put a stop to her cravings, but it doesn't work. The hopeless way with which she is kept pinned to the wall only contribute to increase her arousal.

She feels powerless as Clarke's leg keeps moving against her core, only brushing her clit through her clothes. So close but so damn far.

So. Damn. Far.

She is about to plead when Clarke finally moves her hand. Pants are unzipped and opened roughly like Clarke is the predator and Lexa is the prey waiting to be eaten alive.

And God, she would get on her knees and pray to be eaten alive right now.

A warm finger moves to her center and Lexa trembles from anticipation. Her head goes back and hits the wall behind but she barely feels it. The waves from the blow are nothing compared to the animalism rush flowing through her body.

Clarke gasps when she feels how wet Lexa is. Her index is covered by the most precious fluid there is, and she loses control. She forgets that she wants to take her time and finds Lexa's clit within seconds. It throbs under her touch and Clarke moans when she hears Lexa imploring to be taken.

Clarke feels every heartbeat through Lexa's folds and she worships the sensations. She slips another finger in the familiar warmth and bites her lower lip. She moves up and down and her hand becomes sticky from the clear lubricant coming from between her lover's legs.

Her ears ring with pleasure when Lexa's voice reaches her.

"Take me. Please. Clarke. I need you to take me."

"How?" Clarke murmurs, sweat appearing on her forehead from the fire between them.

"Hard."

Clarke swallows and she swears she could come from that simple word.

She pushes one finger in, but she can already tell it won't be enough. It slips easily in and out, so easily that she almost can't control her motions. Lexa's body arches more and Clarke slams her to the wall, a wicked grin on her face as she pushes another finger in.

She goes slowly at first, taking her time to feel the way Lexa's walls tighten around her fingers, adoring the way she can feel every small bump, every detail under her fingertips. She goes as deep and she can and when Lexa cries blissfully, she knows she has hit the right spot. She wishes she could always elicit this sound. It sounds like a perfect symphony to her ears and it brings her excitement even higher.

She moves ever so slightly to place one of Lexa's leg between her own, hoping it will help her relieve the urges, but it's a temporary solution to a problem that she can only solve by being touched.

"You're so tight," she sighs as she pumps in and out in a fluid movement while the palm of her hand precisely caress Lexa's clit. "You're so wet for me."

She moves faster and Lexa's arms embrace her shoulders harshly. The brunette repeatedly increases her grips around Clarke's body as she holds for her life when the multiple waves bringing her closer and closer to her climax hit her one after another. She barely has time to catch enough air in her lungs to keep her going when she feels Clarke's fingers digging deeper and curling into her.

"Fuck!" she pants out.

She's hot and she can almost not stand, and she is sure that without Clarke's help, she would be on the floor right now. She feels every push and every touch from Clarke's fingers. It still isn't enough. She can feel her walls clenching around Clarke and she whimpers when she walks on the edge of her climax, without ever reaching it.

She almost sobs in frustration when Clarke's fingers move out. They move to her clit and circle it in a way that brings her closer to the end. She resists temptation to beg for what she wants.

"Clarke!" She whines when she feels the blonde nipping at her neck and unexpectedly pushing her fingers back in, curling them at the exact spot that drives Lexa mad.

She pulls slightly at Clarke's hair and feels her whole body shaking against the hard surface when she comes hard, riding fast fingers that refuse to slow down. Her world spin and she rolls her eyes back as she nearly comes again just a minute after her first orgasm.

She grips Clarke's waist and pulls the girl closer, pressing their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. She moans in Clarke's mouth and feels it vibrate in her core. The blonde clenches her jaw when she uses all of her energy to push harder into Lexa. The walls clench around her fingers and she knows.

Lexa rides her second orgasm while conveying all the passion she feels in a burning dance between their tongues.

When she finally moves apart to let air in her body, her body is satisfied, but exhausted. Clarke's hand is still between her leg, immobile, waiting for the next scene. Lexa melts into Clarke's arms as her legs give in.

She almost lets herself fall, but Clarke has planned it. She never stops kissing Lexa as she flexes her arms and pulls her up. Lexa's legs lock around Clarke's waist as the blonde carry them to the bed.

Lexa falls on her back and Clarke straddles her for a moment, admiring how beautiful she is. In this moment, they are completely alone in the world. The liquid proof of arousal shines from between Lexa's legs and Clarke decides that she wants to taste it later.

They lie together for a minute and close their eyes.

They travel through their imagination.

They are the only two survivors from the apocalypse, deciding to love each other until the very end. They are humanity, the best side of it. They are the only ones who know the secrets of the pasts, and they will be the only witnesses of what the future brings.

They are giants looking over to the horizon and dreaming of a better tomorrow. They are fearless and stronger than they were yesterday. They are humans, lying into the moonlight, savoring the rare moment of peace they can get.

Tomorrow they might go back to surviving, but tonight, they are living. They break the silence with their heartbeat and prove that life still exists. They show the world that even when everything is gone, even when everything is hopeless, love can triumph.

The sheets are cold and Clarke shivers as her naked back touches the mattress. It contrasts with the sweat dripping on her skin. Her nipples are hard and she wishes nothing more than for Lexa's tongue to own them. She knows how wet she is and she believes two fingers won't be enough to satisfy her. But when she sees Lexa's silhouette lying next to her, her chest moving up and down as she breathes, her messy hair flying around her face and her hands clenching the sheets, she can only smile and embrace the most beautiful sight she has ever seen.

She's sure her timing is the worse, but she's convinced that she wants to ask Lexa now.

"I need to leave this city," Clarke whispers, trying to steady the pace of her breathing.

She's thought about it. She's thought about what to tell her family, Raven, the people she works with. She's thought about a way to leave everything behind that wouldn't rhyme with being broke and living in a tent. She's thought about a new life, and she knows she wants Lexa in it. She can't start without Lexa.

It takes a second for Lexa's heart to skip many beats. She feels her lungs stiffen and slowly transform to cement. It becomes hard to breathe and she wonders how she went from visiting cloud nine to swimming into the Styx. She hasn't felt like this before. It feels like she can't breathe, no matter how wide she opens her mouth or how fast she inhales. It's never enough oxygen and she can almost feel her organs rot and slowly wrinkle until they turn to dust. Her stomach hurts and the nervousness takes over her brain.

She is on the edge of panic mode and she isn't even sure why.

This woman has the power to bring her to life but also murder her in the most torturous way.

"Leave with me," Clarke asks while her mind is still foggy but her conscience is clear enough.

It's a risky request but Clarke takes the chance. She doesn't know what she will do if Lexa's answer is negative. She has no idea, but it is the first time since months since she's finally found energy to move her life around. She wants to take her car and drive to the unknown. She wants to go to another place and let fate decide where she will end up. She wants this and she wants Lexa by her side.

"I know this sounds like an insane decision," Clarke almost laughs. "But I'm sure of it. The talks we've had in the past days, the late calls in the middle of the night, the insomnia that turned out to be useful… everything has changed with you. You're right. I'm living. I'm hungry for more. I need more. And maybe we're moving too fast, but you know just like me that there isn't only one way to do things. There isn't only the road paved with what society expects from us. There's more. There's the rhythm to our own story and what we decide to do."

The tears that are threatening to burn Lexa's eyes disappear. Her chest moves again and her body tingles with the relief that Clarke is not leaving her behind.

Lexa doesn't hesitate. She knew from the moment they met tonight that she would hear such request. They are both in a similar situation and it is the only way out. And now, she knows her answer. She knows it because she's been wanting to ask the same thing of Clarke. She knows because she can only imagine them walking in foreign streets, discovering a new city to live in.

"Where?" She whispers.

Lexa would follow her anywhere, but she still asks, in fear of everything being an ugly prank.

"Does it matter? We can leave in your hot air balloon," Clarke winks.

Lexa thinks that this is a movie scene. It can't be happening. This isn't suppose to happen because this is real life. Everything matters. They have jobs and families. They have friends and a social network. They have responsibilities and bills to pay and a limited amount of money in their bank accounts. They can't leave everything behind. They can't move to somewhere else, to a mystery destination with nothing in mind but each other. This isn't a game.

What if they break up? What if they discover that they can't be together? What if they can't find a place to call home anymore? Are they not moving too fast? Are they not leaving too much in the hands of destiny? Is she not still under the influence of her climax to give a clear answer?

But Lexa finds herself thinking. She loves Clarke. And even though this is the beginning, even though they have only started to know each other, even though this is the ultimate U-Haul scenario, she wants to. She wants to take that chance because anything, anything at all seems better than staying in this town and doing the same job and having the same routine. There must be more than just playing pretend and waiting for something to happen. She has to make it happen.

There must be more than living a life that isn't hers.

"It doesn't matter," Lexa agrees.

They can always live in a cardboard castle and be the queens of their own universe. They can walk miles from a town to one another and sleep in tents. They can go through the most violent storms and fight the cruelest hurricanes. They can climb a volcano and pretend that they are only children acting like the floor is lava. They can do anything.

Clarke reaches for Lexa's hand and squeezes it.

"We can find a place to be ours," she says.

Lexa has never heard such perfect words.

She finds her home into Clarke's eyes and she never wants to move again.

"I love you."

She's been waiting for too long to say it, and Clarke has been waiting for too long to hear it.

Clarke's answer is immediate. It's the most natural sentence for her to pronounce. She means every word and she wishes she could trade place with Lexa just so the woman can truly feel the truth behind the words.

"I love you more."

Lexa almost remains silent. Almost. A glance to Clarke's little desk makes her smile when she notices the book resting on it. Her memory flashes to the first conversation they had, just a few months ago.

"I love you the most."

She rolls on top of the blonde's body in a fluid motion and slides her hand to cup her chest. She hears a faint gasp and grins. This might become her favorite sound.

"I do," she affirms.

She will spend the rest of the night proving it.

* * *

 **I wrote this story to the one who made me feel again.**

 **Long live Clexa!**


End file.
